


Flames on My Skin

by litbeyondmeasure



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Agravaine Before He Became...Agravaine, Balinor is Just Done(TM) With Them Both, But We're Calling it a Headcanon Okay?, Everyone Being Happy Before They Get Killed/Exiled, Gen, I Decided to Give Nimueh More of a Backstory Because the Writers Did Not, I May Have Made Up Some Stuff About the High Priestesses, I Took Some Liberties With Uther's Backstory, Me Proving I Do Not Know Camelot's Geography, Nimueh Being a Simp for Ygraine, Nimueh Wields Carnwennan Because Why Not, Nimueh and Uther Fighting Each Other, Nimueh and Uther Only Talk to Each Other Because of Ygraine, Some Mention of War Wounds and Death, Unrequited Love, Who Knows How Much of This Actually Fits With Canon Because I Sure as Hell Don't, Young Uther, because it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litbeyondmeasure/pseuds/litbeyondmeasure
Summary: Nimueh knew she should have rued the day she ever set eyes on Ygraine de Bois. But having now followed the young noblewoman relentlessly for nearly a decade, she is trapped in Uther Pendragon's campaign for Camelot and has a very nasty feeling about what will come next.(Written for Day 3 of Camelove2021: Wait...What? It's Wednesday)
Relationships: Agravaine & Tristan de Bois, Balinor & Nimueh (Merlin), Gorlois/Vivienne (Merlin), Nimueh & Gorlois (Merlin), Nimueh & Tristan de Bois, Nimueh & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois & Nimueh (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois & Vivienne (Merlin)
Collections: Camelove 2021





	Flames on My Skin

Nimueh slowly peeled an apple with her knife as she glowered at Uther with an angrier heat than that of the flickering fire beside her. If it had been up to her, she wouldn’t be wasting her magic on keeping such a prick warm, but he was Ygraine’s prick, and Ygraine had asked her to go. And Nimueh would relinquish her magic in a heartbeat if Ygraine asked her to. Thankfully, she hadn’t been asked to stop hating Uther: that would have been a task significantly more difficult than relinquishing her magic.  


Having been preoccupied with Uther, Nimueh hadn’t noticed the knife cutting through her skin until it was too late and blood had beaded the flesh of the fruit like a diadem. Cursing quietly, she licked the small wound and cast a quick incantation to heal it, immediately attracting Uther’s attention. She glowered at him again. He was the reason that she had been uprooted from the court that she’d called home for ten years; he had stolen Ygraine’s heart – Triple Goddess knew what exactly Ygraine saw in him – and now intended to steal an entire kingdom, because apparently Ygraine wasn’t enough.  


She cut off a chunk and balanced it on the flat of the knife, spitting out a pip into the fire. The flames momentarily started and she cast a glance towards Balinor, who was stretched out on a log with his hands behind his head. He hadn’t spoken a word to either of them since Nimueh had tried to stab Uther but, in her defence, Uther had hit her with a mace first. Sick of the silence and having to endure the sight of Uther’s face when he still hadn’t apologised for dismissing her plan without a moment’s consideration, Nimueh stood and, kicking some leaves into the fire behind her as she went, launched herself deeper into the forest.  


As she sheathed the knife and withdrew Carnwennan, she felt herself gradually become lost to the shadows surrounding her and allowed the enchantment she’d been enveloped in to drop. Leaning back against a tree once she was a suitable distance from Uther, Nimueh quietly exhaled. If they did succeed in capturing the citadel the next day, then she knew she would have to make the transformation more permanent. Absent-mindedly, she twisted the ends of her dark hair between her fingers. Despite having concealed her true face ever since Uther had stumbled into the de Bois household, she still hadn't gotten used to her new appearance, though she knew she would need to. The fact that nobody knew quite why he had been forced to leave his home had thrown up red flags for Nimueh; she was the only one who was able to be secretive about her past. And even her level of secrecy was up for debate when Ygraine knew everything about her.  


Nimueh closed her eyes. The final key had been her true name, breathed into the still night on the eve of her departure. She had tiptoed into Ygraine’s chambers, as Ygraine had requested, and settled herself on the bed, head against the post as she had observed the noblewoman through the candlelight. Ygraine’s hair had looked as if it had been on fire itself and Nimueh had wanted nothing more than to bask in its flames, but she had forced herself to move her gaze to meet Ygraine’s eyes. The same eyes that had fumbled through mist when her brothers had pushed her out in a boat without oars and left her adrift. Watching her quietly, Nimueh had still been able to feel her cold hands in her own palms as she had waded through the water to help her to the shore. She’d spent the whole afternoon showing Ygraine around the Isle of the Blessed, warming her skin with enchantments and making flowers bloom in her drying hair. Nimueh had never been bothered about love, devoting herself entirely to her studies, but one afternoon with Ygraine had made her want to do nothing except intertwine their destinies.  


So, after Ygraine’s mother had anxiously sailed out and retrieved her, Nimueh had slipped away under night’s cloak, armed with Carnwennan, stolen from one of the elders, and found Ygraine’s home after scrying. She’d remained there ever since, using her healing abilities and rising to the position of court sorceress, Ygraine always in her peripheral vision. She and Vivienne had even started teaching her magic in recent years and she had been getting rather good at it.  


Then Uther had arrived.  


Opening her eyes, Nimueh spat on the ground and kicked her way further into the forest. Ygraine had a kind heart – kinder than Nimueh’s, at least – and when Uther had been found at the gates of the de Bois castle, bruised and bloodied, Ygraine had tended to him herself after he had made it quite plain that he did not want a sorcerer treating him. Yet he seemed perfectly happy to have a sorcerer helping him take a kingdom that he had a tenuous claim to now.  


As she reached a riverbank, Carnwennan still drawn, she threw herself to her knees and murmured words into the still air, conjuring the image of Ygraine onto the water’s surface. Her delicate mouth was moving as she spoke to Vivienne on the battlements and Nimueh strained to read her lips. The rippling of the water in the soft breeze distorted the image and the High Priestess gave up, sitting back on her heels and instead taking in every angle of Ygraine’s frame. She’d been desperate to join them, to begin with, and, as much as Nimueh had wanted to spend every moment with her, it was for the best that she hadn’t. She was a skilled fighter, but it was too soon after the loss of her father for her to trying to take a kingdom. Besides, Nimueh would have had to keep up the pretence that she and Uther got on, which would have exhausted her far more than any enchantment.  


If she reached out, then perhaps she would be able to feel Ygraine’s soft pulse beneath her fingertips, allow the warmth of her skin to skitter across her own. Nimueh put her hand in the water and it fell straight through the image and, angrily, she splashed at it and dug her fingers into the muddy riverbed. She had given Ygraine everything. The last part of herself had been surrendered on that night, and Ygraine had only ever given her smiles.  


Nimueh had feasted on those smiles, and the odd casual touch that came with them, gorged on the drawn-out syllables of her name on Ygraine’s tongue, and that had sustained her well enough for years. But now, in the forest alone, with Ygraine’s suitor snarling on the other side of the fire she had abandoned, Nimueh could feel her strength dwindling. Acting before her anger transformed into tears, she cast away the image and trampled across foliage as she settled in the hollow of an oak tree.  


The true name of a High Priestess was a powerful thing. If known by the wrong people, then the power that came with it could be easily corrupted. Nimueh would die several deaths before she gave her name to someone like Uther, and she just hoped that in telling Ygraine she hadn’t condemned herself.  


Nimueh might be one of the most powerful sorcerers to walk the earth, but her power was nothing to that which Ygraine unknowingly wielded over her. One slight part of her lips could convey the strongest incantation and it was much harder to refuse her when she spoke words. Nimueh closed her eyes as she submerged herself in the last time she had seen Ygraine in the flesh.  


She had sat on the bed in silence as Ygraine had fretted over her brothers, over Uther, over Gorlois, over Vivienne and her unborn baby, slowly absorbing her fears as they spilled out and taking on the burden herself. She’d felt so much in her early years that she’d hastily learnt to numb herself just to survive, and she had always been more than willing to carry Ygraine’s emotions when they were overflowing. Once Ygraine had been able to breathe again, her hand had travelled to the triskelion tattoo on Nimueh’s naked arm. She had traced it, as she had done so many times when she had caught sight of it, and had raised her eyes once more.  


‘Is it true that High Priestesses are born with two names?’ she whispered.  


Nimueh, painfully aware of just how risky it was to reveal it, had kept her eyes downcast. ‘Some, not all.’  


‘Were you?’  


She’d made the mistake of looking up. ‘Yes.’  


‘What’s your other name?’  


Nimueh had known that she shouldn’t tell Ygraine. It had been drilled into her as soon as she had been able to comprehend basic concepts and repeat them back to the High Priestesses. _Never reveal your true name. It will be your undoing._ But Ygraine’s fingers had been making the hairs on her arms dance and her gentle touch had been worming its way into her veins. ‘My name is Viviane. Not the same as Vivienne,’ she’d hastily added, gently pushing away Ygraine’s hand to prevent her saying anything more.  


As dawn had uncertainly unfurled itself across the sky, Nimueh had relinquished her seat at the window, where she had removed herself to as Ygraine had begun to yawn, and had given Ygraine one final look before leaving to join the troops. Ygraine had been sinking in a pool of pastels as the sun had crept into her chambers and Nimueh’s last image of her had been her blending beautifully with nature.  


She felt like she hadn’t seen the sun in days. They’d pillaged large settlements that they’d passed through, despite leaving the smaller villages largely untouched, and the thick smoke from various fires had obscured every last dreg of natural light for the past week. Wishing that she’d refined her ability to see the future before abandoning the Isle of the Blessed, Nimueh massaged her temples. She had no idea what devastation they would cause in the citadel at dawn, particularly with Uther being in favour of open warfare rather than unexpected infiltration.  


He wanted the glory, she knew that, and the triumph of a very public victory. And, as he put more store by mortal men than her, that meant that her job was to keep him alive for Ygraine.  


Nimueh spat on the ground again.  


‘Who’s there?’ came a voice, followed by the body it belonged to.  


Nimueh, recognising the halo of chestnut hair immediately, dropped down from the tree and sheathed Carnwennan. ‘It’s only Nimueh, Gorlois, you can stand down.’  


As she became visible through the trees, Gorlois sheathed his sword and folded his arms. ‘You and Uther haven’t been fighting again, have you?’  


She scowled, kicking him in the ankle as she approached. ‘You sound like Balinor. Anyway, Uther started it. And it’s not my fault that he got in the way of my knife.’  


‘Nimueh,’ Gorlois sighed, closing his eyes as if in pain. ‘We take the citadel tomorrow. Once that is secured and Uther has claimed Camelot, then you have done your duty. You never have to see him again if you don’t want to.’  


He opened his eyes and they met hers, both sharing the knowledge that Nimueh would go wherever Ygraine went, no matter how much she despised Ygraine’s choice in men. Fiercely, she reached up to embrace him, despondently muttering in his ear: ‘Why couldn’t you have married her?’  


‘Is the question that I ask myself every day,’ Tristan de Bois bitterly said, cutting his way through the trees with Agravaine on his heels. ‘Enough of the sentimental stuff, we need to get back to the troops before they start to become restless. Where’s Uther?’  


Nimueh jerked her head behind her as she let go of Gorlois, sparing Tristan a cool gaze. Their dislike for Uther had bound them together for a start, but when it had become apparent that Ygraine was catching feelings they had parted ways. Tristan, as Ygraine’s brother and new head of the household, had the luxury of being able to vocally oppose her interest and not risk losing her completely. Nimueh, as her... _friend_ , had not that privilege. Despite the number of times Nimueh had helped Ygraine to sneak out of the castle, or the numerous spells she’d instructed her in, the burdens she’d borne, she knew that Ygraine would forget everything they’d shared if Nimueh had ever made her true feelings towards Uther Pendragon known to her. She hated how dependent she’d become on Ygraine, hated how her heart had chained itself to each breath that the noblewoman took, but she was too entwined in the very fibre of Ygraine’s being to extract herself now.  


Her love had crept upon her like the thief who stole the stars each morning and, instead of being wiped clean, she had been smeared in admiration and desperation for a woman who would never return her feelings. Most days, she wanted to throw herself into the deepest lake she could and scream into the thick silence. Other days, she wanted to stab Uther in the foot. Neither were practical responses, but they would make her feel better.  


‘Nimueh? Do you know the plan for the morning?’ Gorlois was waving his hand in front of her face. ‘Hello?’  


She slapped it away with a scowl. ‘Don’t be rude. Yes, I do, and, no, I don’t like it.’  


‘He didn’t ask that,’ Agravaine said, having lingered behind to greet her.  


Nimueh reached out and ruffled his hair. ‘Thank you for your input, Agravaine.’ In the moonlight, a large gash across the side of his face caught the silvery shadows. ‘How did you get this?’ she asked, her fingers falling down to gently prod at it.  


Agravaine flinched away as her nails brushed the wound. ‘There were bandits camped out along Camlann’s pass. They caught us unawares, and one of them caught my face with their sword.’  


‘And Tristan didn’t think to get it sorted?’  


‘Tristan was just trying to get as many people out alive as possible, Nimueh,’ Gorlois gently said.  


Ignoring the remark, Nimueh pressed her palm against the wound, closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, then recited an incantation. Beneath her hand, she could feel the skin of Agravaine’s cheek ever so slowly knitting itself back together and, satisfied, she removed her hand to reveal a smooth canvas once more.  


Entranced, Agravaine touched the place where the wound had been with his mouth open. ‘I’ve seen you do that many times, but it never ceases to amaze me,’ he quietly said.  


‘Let’s just hope that I don’t have to do it many times tomorrow,’ Nimueh grimly replied, shoving her hands in her pockets and heading back towards the small camp.  


‘Nimueh!’ When she turned, Gorlois was catching up with her and tapping his head. ‘If you’re still doing the whole concealed identity thing, then you might want to reassume it.’  


Quietly swearing, Nimueh closed her eyes and gripped a tree to steady herself as she altered her appearance. Finishing, she opened her eyes again and turned her head to address Gorlois. ‘Has it done it?’  


With a frown, Gorlois shook his head.  


Knowing what she had to do next, Nimueh rested her forehead on the trunk of the tree and took a breath. The features that she’d been using in the enchantment had been loosely based on the person that she was about to assume, and Uther was never very observant when it came to her anyway, unless she was of use to him. Taking another breath, she pulled away from the tree and looked towards Agravaine.  


‘You go on. Gorlois and I will follow shortly.’ Once left alone, Nimueh turned to her friend. ‘This is not going to be pleasant to witness.’  


‘I’ve seen men with their intestines spilling out of them as they struggled for breath and cried out in agony,’ Gorlois said. ‘I think I can manage whatever it is you are about to perform.’  


Nimueh’s mouth set into a thin line. ‘Necromancy. Of a kind.’  


Not elaborating, she followed the path she’d kicked into shape earlier and threw herself down by the river. Indicating that Gorlois should remain several steps away but be prepared to drag her from the water if necessary, Nimueh conjured the form that was always on the fringes of her memory into her mind and plunged her hands into the river as she began chanting.  


From his position, Gorlois strained his eyes in the moonlight to see a head emerging from the water. It was translucent, and he was able to still count the branches of the trees on the other side of the bank, and was staring directly at Nimueh, mouth silently speaking. Gradually, as if caught on a hook, the rest of the body followed until the spirit of a young woman hovered several inches above the surface, regarding Nimueh with a scowl but softened eyes.  


‘I stole so many years from you,’ Nimueh croaked, raising her head. ‘And you can have some of them back, through me.’  


When the figure opened her mouth the words were audible and echoed through the forest. ‘Everyone used to say we were inseparable, I suppose. So, I give you my face. What do you give me?’  


‘Time,’ Nimueh simply said. ‘Time to walk on the ground again. To bid a proper farewell to everything. To be at peace. A face for a face. You take back some of the years I took from you.’  


The woman cocked her head. ‘For how long?’  


‘Twenty years.’  


‘You can do a lot in twenty years,’ she mused.  


‘So it’s a deal?’  


After a slight pause, the spirit plunged her hand into Nimueh’s chest and rotated her wrist. ‘It’s a deal.’  


At the offensive action, Gorlois had stumbled forwards, but he hesitated as Nimueh seemed to recover and mimicked the action herself. The air was thick with words that he couldn’t translate, the voices of the two magic-wielders mingling like sections of a choir. As Nimueh sank lower to the ground, the form of the spirit gradually became more defined and heavier, the feet that had been levitating moments before became slowly submerged in the water. Nimueh’s voice grew fainter as the stranger’s grew stronger and, finally the former’s hand dropped and she fell down completely, her arm casting ripples across the water’s surface as the stranger splashed into the water.  


Gorlois snapped into action. He waded into the river before the stranger hit the bed and hauled her out, then turned Nimueh on her side before lurching back. Her features were that of the stranger and, when he turned around, the stranger was wearing Nimueh’s face. He returned to Nimueh – or who he thought was Nimueh – at a gasp and she sat up hastily.  


Taking a couple of minutes to catch her breath, she stood up and dusted herself down, glancing over at the second body. The other woman was staring up at the sky in wonder and, with a sharp inclination of her head that was registered, Nimueh headed in the direction of the camp, leaving Gorlois to come sprinting after her.  


‘What the _fuck_ was that?’ he gasped out.  


Nimueh turned with a raised eyebrow. ‘My, my, Gorlois swearing? I never thought I’d see the day. That, my dear friend, was a debt repayment. I accidentally killed another High Priestess in training, we’ve been bound together ever since, and I’m letting her live for a bit in exchange for borrowing her face.’  


‘You really want to conceal your identity that much?’  


Stopping, Nimueh looked him directly in the face. ‘I don’t feel safe around Uther. So, yes, it is essential that he doesn’t know what I look like. Names can be changed easily enough. Faces cannot.’  


Gorlois lowered his head, and the words that issued next from his mouth were as subtle as the changing colour of the leaves in autumn. ‘You might be right to not feel safe around him. He told me why he left his home.’  


‘Oh? Are you at liberty to say?’  


‘Not really. But it involved a sorcerer and an apparent betrayal.’  


As they approached thick smoke, Gorlois closed his mouth and entered the campsite first, greeting Balinor with a nod of his head and clasping Uther’s arm. Wordlessly, Nimueh threw herself down beside the Dragonlord, whose offering of an apple seemed to be a peace treaty, and retrieved her knife to cut the fruit. She handed him the odd slice as she mechanically worked through it, watching the quartet discuss various strategies.  


Nimueh had grown used to being pushed to the sidelines with Balinor over the last few weeks. They had silently bonded over spells and apples; Balinor rarely monologued and Nimueh disliked speaking at length in Uther’s presence unless she was verbally attacking him. She had learnt a little more about the Dragonlords, but had yet to witness Balinor harnessing his powers, what with Uther wanting to save it for storming the citadel, if even then. Handing Balinor another slice, Nimueh caught Lord Godwyn’s name and scoffed at the title. He might have been raised as a commoner but his heart was nobler than his uncle’s had been. King Godfrey of Gawant had wanted to give his nephew one final kick in the teeth before reluctantly giving him the crown through his decree that Godwyn could only ever be a lord. As Nimueh once again questioned why she was helping Uther, Ygraine’s face floated into her mind as an answer and she stabbed her knife into the apple.  


Dropping the rest of it into Balinor’s palm, Nimueh pulled her cloak over her head and threw it on the floor, leaving her triskelion exposed as an act of defiance. She slotted herself angrily between Gorlois and Agravaine, shooting daggers at Tristan as he opened his mouth.  


‘You are going to tell me what the plan is for the morning, and you are going to tell me _now._ I refuse to be walking into battle blind.’

* * *

Nimueh, removing Carnwennan from a bandit’s corpse, may as well have walked into battle blind. The instructions she had been given elaborated no further on ‘storm the citadel and capture it’ and she had lost sight of absolutely everyone she knew. Godwyn’s troops had joined with the ragtag bunch formed by Gorlois and the de Bois family, but she knew nobody amongst them. As a group of bandits came charging down the path, Nimueh took cover behind a burning house to catch her breath.  


If she had the energy, she could seek out her allies, but it was taking all her strength to wield Carnwennan, cast the odd spell and stay alive simultaneously. All she had to do was make it into the castle. If it transpired that Uther had already seized it and named himself king as King Crispin’s illegitimate grandson (though Nimueh suspected he’d leave out the illegitimate part), then that meant she could stand down. If it transpired that Uther had not already seized it, then she would have to secure it herself. Regardless, she had to get inside the castle.  


‘We can help you there,’ said a voice, cutting through the screams of the dying.  


Nimueh turned her head, eyes resting on a young couple. ‘Sorry?’  


‘You said you needed to get inside the castle,’ a young woman clarified, ‘and my partner said that we could help you get inside.’ Registering Nimueh’s confused silence, she further added: ‘You were talking out loud.’  


Realising that she was invisible to them both, Nimueh sheathed Carnwennan slowly. ‘No, I wasn’t.’ Her eyes narrowed and this time she spoke to the stranger with her mind. ‘Do you have magic?’ As she received a clear affirmative, she nodded and spoke out loud. ‘And how do I know I can trust you?’  


‘You’ve just burnt down our house,’ the man, who had initiated the conversation, observed. ‘How do we know that we can trust you?’  


‘That wasn’t me, it was my—Fair point. How do you know how to get into the castle?’  


‘Even bandits need healers,’ the man said with a wry smile. ‘I’m Gaius, and this is my partner, Alice.’  


‘Nimueh. I’m not a bandit, though I appreciate it looks like I am. Now, how do we get in?’  


Wordlessly, Gaius beckoned her towards them and she followed quietly, pulling out Carnwennan again. Alice would be able to feel her nearby and she wanted the advantage of a surprise counterattack if they were seen. As they darted through the citadel, Nimueh kept one eye on her surroundings and one on the image of Ygraine, acting as the emblem of a war banner. If she had been asked to retrace her steps by someone holding a sword to her throat then she would have surrendered her life rather than faced that humiliation; the citadel formed a labyrinth in her head and she wasn’t quite sure how they had reached the gate to a set of tunnels running beneath the castle, but they apparently had.  


Four bandits were guarding it and she threw two of them against the wall under her breath, watching Alice do the same. Then, they advanced, Nimueh tearing the obstacle off its hinges before they passed through the tunnels. There were more bandits at the other end, but they were disposed of within minutes, and the trio emerged in daylight once more as they ascended the staircase.  


Hurled into a corridor, Nimueh halted. Rich tapestries were strung across the pale walls and she instinctively moved to the closest one, tracing the needlework with a single finger. She wasn’t quite sure what it depicted but, whatever it was, it was beautiful. There was a noise further down the corridor and her head snapped around to follow the sound, eyes latching on a figure in dark clothing. Without taking any time to scrutinise them further, Nimueh plucked them from the ground. As they rotated, she saw crossed arms and an unimpressed expression through chunks of long hair. Gently setting Balinor down, she sheathed Carnwennan and ran to meet him.  


‘Has Uther got control?’  


‘Almost. The vast majority have barricaded themselves in the throne room, so he’s heading a force to break down the door. I was sent to scout for any more bandits.’ Balinor frowned over her shoulder. ‘Who are they?’  


Nimueh stepped to the side. ‘Alice and Gaius. They helped me get in.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Alice has magic.’  


‘Well, in that case, they can certainly help us get into the throne room. I’ve scanned the castle but, just in case I’ve missed anything—’  


Before Balinor had even finished vocalising his request, Nimueh had closed her eyes and started to mentally scour the area. Navigating the unfamiliar setting, her gaze flitted across empty rooms and settled on the throne room, where about fifty bandits were either pressed against the doors or gathered in the centre of the room. Sharply inhaling, she opened her eyes.  


‘All clear.’  


Thanking her with a nod, Balinor motioned for her to follow him. Gaius and Alice, keeping an eye on the path that they were walking away from, brought up the rear with the excuse of physicians potentially being required immediately. Keeping one hand held out in front of her and one firmly grasped around Carnwennan, Nimueh allowed her gaze to slide to Balinor. There was a bleeding wound on his upper arm that he appeared to not be aware of – likely a result of the adrenaline coursing through him – and Nimueh made a mental note to deal with it later. Although she knew Balinor was more than capable when it came to healing spells, she also knew that it was much harder to heal yourself than it was to heal another person. She had learnt that the hard way, many times over. The sword strapped to his side was spotless and had no smears from the blood on his fingers.  


Her gaze slid back across again. She knew that her magic was stronger than her artificial weapons, but she herself didn’t feel strong enough to unleash her power. Not after the river. Having a new face for the next couple of decades would take some getting used to, and not just for her. But Nimueh had been wracked with guilt since the day that her hand had dropped to that fatal position. And she couldn’t have simply resurrected Laria without disrupting the balance of the world or giving her own life in return. No, there had to be a purpose to it and, besides, it was only twenty years of her life that she had given away. Nimueh had many more than that ahead of her: she could feel it within her.  


The location of the throne room was discernible by the swarm of soldiers outside the doors. Questioning Uther’s common sense at sending away the only person who would have been able to completely destroy the doors with just one flick of the wrist, Nimueh pushed herself through the crowd until she was stood beside him. Their eyes exchanged a thousand angry words and, defiantly, she placed one hand on the ancient wood. Whispering a brief apology for the devastation it was about to endure, Nimueh raised her head as her lips moved and the doors flew open and skidded halfway across the throne room.  


As the bandits came charging towards them, Gorlois seized Nimueh’s wrist and whisked her to the side, planting his back to hers. Like they were invisibly bound to one another, they moved together into the throne room. Nimueh drew subtle stores of strength from his body, hurling fire at bandits on her side as Gorlois swung his sword at mirroring ones. In her peripheral vision, Nimueh saw Alice and Gaius cutting off any who tried to lose themselves in the sea of troops and escape through the ranks. Balinor raised both his hands and sent ten bandits flying backwards. Agravaine was throwing knives into various skulls and Tristan had scaled the side of the balcony above the doors and was shooting down numerous opponents.  


Cutting down several obligatory bandits as he strode across the length of the room, Uther ensured that the numbers of the enemy were dwindling and then threw himself onto the throne with a smirk. One by one, as the last of the bandits were brutally murdered, the surviving soldiers dropped their weapons before dropping down to their knees in the direction of the new King of Camelot. Nimueh felt a sudden breeze on her back as Gorlois pulled away to bow down and, finally, she was the only one left standing.  


Uther turned his gaze to her. Eyes narrowed, Nimueh held the stare for several minutes, her hand still on Carnwennan’s hilt. Then, still keeping her eyes fixed on him, she knelt down. As a chant rose in the air, Nimueh kept her lips firmly pressed together, glowering at the new king.  


One day, if Ygraine let her, she would make him burn.

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist for this fic:  
> \- 'I Did Something Bad' (Taylor Swift)  
> \- 'Damned If I Do Ya (Damned If I Don't)' (All Time Low)  
> \- 'Fire' (The Score)  
> \- 'Can You Hear Me Now' (The Score)  
> \- 'To The Side' (Layto)  
> \- 'Bodies' (Bryce Fox)  
> \- 'What Other People Say' (Sam Fischer & Demi Lovato)  
> \- 'Remains' (Bastille Vs. Rag'N'Bone Man Vs. Skunk Anansie)


End file.
